


The Stops After the End of the Line

by CoffeeJay



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Assisted Suicide, Canon-Typical Behavior, Heaven & Hell, M/M, Other, Outer Space, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, The Second Apocalypse (Good Omens), i swear this ends well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeJay/pseuds/CoffeeJay
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley end up running away together, after all.  It doesn't go how they thought it would.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	1. One Week After the World Didn’t End

“You know, I’ve been thinking about cafés.”

“Cafés,” Crowley repeated. A pair of delighted children raced by. He watched them speed to the bumper cars.

“We did the Ritz,” said Aziraphale.

“Yes.”

“And that’s the-- the epitome of glamor, according to a lot of people,” Aziraphale elaborated, gesturing with his cotton candy before plucking off the last chunk. “But it’s been a good long while since I popped into a little café for tea. One of those charming little shops with the handmade pastries and sandwiches.” The cotton candy was in his mouth the moment he’d finished his sentence, and with a satisfied hum, he licked the sugary residue from his fingers. “Delish.”

“Sounds like a place I saw near Tadfield the other day,” Crowley droned, frowning at a plastic topiary to avoid Aziraphale’s restrained beaming. “We could drop in, if you’d like.” Without looking, he passed Aziraphale what was left of his own barely-touched cotton candy and added, “After we’re done here, of course.”

“Yes, I was just about to say,” Aziraphale chuckled, thoughtlessly accepting the treat. “We haven’t done the ferris wheel, yet. Or the roller coaster. It’s supposed to have the longest free-fall of them all, can you imagine?”

Crowley made an odd noise in the back of his throat and said, “Looks a little slow to me.” Exhilarated screaming echoed across the park, accompanied by the thunder of tracks. “How fast would it have to go before it broke, do you reckon?”

Aziraphale frowned at Crowley and said, “They still haven’t reopened the pirate ship.”

“I enhanced that ride.”

“I’m fairly certain humans aren’t meant to be held upside down, fifty meters in the air, for more than five minutes at a time.”

“Well if they shut it down permanently,” Crowley argued, “it’ll be a public service. Really, it takes a thousand miracles to keep that thing running on a normal day without a dozen ugly deaths.”

Aziraphale hummed. “Must be one of yours, then.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Crowley. “Nothing like a brush with death to help with--”

“Oh, look!” Aziraphale exclaimed, yanking Crowley towards the ferris wheel. “There’s hardly a line!”

Where Aziraphale went, Crowley followed.


	2. One Year After the World Didn’t End

Crowley sat slumped by the bookshop window, watching rain trickle down the pane. The world was peaceful. His mind was not.

“Have you heard from anyone?” he asked.

Aziraphale remained hunched over an ancient tome of prophecy, transfixed.

“Angel.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale stated, jerking back to reality. “Yes, sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, have you heard from anyone?” Several creases appeared in Aziraphale’s forehead. “Above? Below?” Crowley probed. “Sideways? Backwards? Anyone, anywhere?” 

Gingerly, Aziraphale pushed away from his book. “No,” he replied. “Nothing to speak of since we got the invitation for the Device-Pulsifer wedding. I can’t figure why they chose January, of all months. Most people like a good spring wedding.” When Crowley began to sulk at the window again, he asked, “Why? Have you?”

“No,” Crowley sighed. “It’s good riddance, really.”

“Then why do you look so miserable?”

Crowley scoffed at nothing and said, “It’s suspicious.”

“Crowley, it’s only been a year,” Aziraphale insisted, setting aside his glasses. “We’ve both been left alone for much, much longer than that before. And isn’t that what we wanted?” he asked. “To be left alone?”

“More than anything,” Crowley mumbled. A flash danced in through the window, followed a second later by a low rumble. “But we’re out of the loop now. They could be planning anything, and we wouldn’t know.”

“Well, that’s true,” said Aziraphale, still frowning. He began to pick at his fingernails. “But they might not be planning anything.” Crowley leveled him with a doubtful stare. “Nothing that concerns us,” Aziraphale amended. “You saw their faces when we did what we did. As far as they know, we’re made of sterner stuff than they can fathom.”

Crowley let out a noncommittal grunt, followed by, “Maybe. I’ll be happy if I never hear from any of them for the rest of time.”

“Here here,” said Aziraphale, toasting Crowley with a mug of cocoa he’d forgotten he’d made. He warmed it before taking a sip. Crowley said nothing more, and only continued to stare out the window.

Aziraphale returned to his book.


	3. Five Hundred Years After the World Didn’t End

“I don’t understand how anyone does this by hand,” said Crowley, miracling the last of his and Aziraphale’s belongings into their new home where it floated above a London long-since devoured by the Thames. Priceless, ancient books appeared in translucent cases all around the house. After them, a short parade of plants popped into place in front of the dirigible’s many ports. Finally, the world’s oldest functioning automobile materialized in the garage next to Aziraphale’s gaudy aeropede, causing the dirigible to bob ever so slightly in its place. 

“Me either,” said Aziraphale, although his focus was immediately lost when he spotted his collection in its new home. “I don’t dare touch them anymore,” he whispered.

“That’s what the scans are for,” Crowley offered, flipping back his cape before settling on a plush stool. “Nobody has to touch anything anymore, really.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” said Aziraphale. He wiped a smudge from the surface of the case containing a misprinted bible nearing its thousandth birthday. “The digital copies are nice enough, once you get used to them. Easy to search through, and all that.”

“Easier to transport,” Crowley wryly added.

“Yes, and then the physical copies,” Aziraphale went on. “This synthetic paper they’ve come up with is supposed to last forever, too. Look, in a thousand years, this should still look brand new.” At that, he presented Crowley with a shiny first-edition of  _ Revelations For The Coming Ages _ by Thou-Shalt-Shun-Authority Pulsifer. “And those paper books are going to be dust, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale fretted. “It’s a shame.”

“There is something special about the original,” Crowley agreed, although his attention had already begun to drift to the book in his lap. “Never thought those names would make a comeback.”

“I believe Thou-Shalt-Shun-Authority’s friends call them Punk.”

“Mm,” said Crowley. “And how’s Punk at prophesying?”

Aziraphale shrugged and said, “We’ll see. They’re giving the world a few more centuries, which is much more generous than their contemporaries.” 

“Oh?”

“You know how it is,” said Aziraphale. “People in every century think the world’s on its last leg right that minute. Popular bets these days say 2666 is the year it all goes flat.”

Crowley snorted. “Poetic.”

“Isn’t it?” Aziraphale chuckled. “I do believe people will be prophesying the end times forever, never bothering to remember that it’s already happened.”

“Well,” said Crowley, scratching at his nose. “It wasn’t really the end if things are still going, was it?”

“It was the end a lot of people were waiting for,” Aziraphale replied. “Including us.”

“I suppose,” Crowley hummed. “Brunch?”

“Oh, yes,” came the eager reply. “I know just the place.”


	4. One Thousand Years After the World Didn’t End

Crowley and Aziraphale had spent the night before in the raucous company of the decade’s most prominent neo-gospel-grunge revivalists and their even more rambunctious friends. As such, they had spent much of the following week in the southern hemisphere’s most luxurious cave resorts to recover.

The draw of cave resorts, for many, was the quiet. By virtue of every room being encased in finely-terraformed rock, not a sound could be heard from above or below. Fresh spring water trickled into each suite from the walls, collecting in marble fountains and bubbling up in artificially-heated pools. With a team of mechanical servers and the latest in holographic entertainment no more than a word away, it was easy to lose all track of time in such resorts, which is exactly what Crowley and Aziraphale did.

They slept for two consecutive days on the plushest bed available, awoke, ordered a sampling of the resort’s finest desserts, ate them in the hot spring, and then slept for another three days. 

In this manner, Crowley and Aziraphale missed the rapture.

When they emerged from their cavern, the world was on fire. The best of humanity had vanished from the earth while Crowley and Aziraphale had been sharing tiramisu, and had either of them still been on speaking terms with their respective sides, someone would have advised them to prepare for war.

As things stood, someone had detonated a nuclear weapon over New Australia, the oceans had begun to boil, angels and demons were dueling in the stratosphere, and Crowley and Aziraphale hadn’t noticed until just now.

After a chaotic, fruitless search for life, they sneaked off to the moon to watch their beloved planet burn itself to ash.

“Oh, great,” said Crowley as they appeared beneath the dome of humanity’s largest moon base. “Nobody left up here, either.”

“At least it’s not burning,” said Aziraphale, dazed. Above them, Earth glowed like a star. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone left on Mars, either.”

“Even if there is, they can’t last.” Crowley shuffled up beside Aziraphale to watch the world end. “That colony was struggling to begin with, and without supplies from home…”

Aziraphale shook his head, unable to look away. “Crowley,” he said. “Can’t we do anything? Can’t we save it?”

There was an odd hitch in Crowley’s voice when he replied, “Aziraphale, I don’t know that there’s anything left to save.”

“So that’s it, then.”

On far-off Earth, there was an explosion so colossal that it was visible from among the stars.

“Afraid so.”


	5. A Long While Later

Mars was indeed empty, as was the moon. When the last of the heavenly host had departed from the Earth’s charred remains, Crowley and Aziraphale had gone back to check for survivors amongst the rubble. They found a single cockroach, which died an hour later of loneliness.

It was at this point that they abandoned their human forms and took on the shape of light particles.

“There’s always Alpha Centauri,” Crowley had suggested. They didn’t need mouths to speak, much less air.

“I suppose,” Aziraphale had replied, flickering miserably. “Let’s take the long way, shall we?”

After all, they were in no hurry.

They reached Alpha Centauri several years later. They didn’t speak in all that time.

“You know, I rather miss music,” Aziraphale finally remarked as they hovered in the center of the star system.

“Awful quiet, isn’t it?” Crowley agreed. “Lots of space, in space. Even with all these stars. Seriously, you make so many stars, and it just never fills up.”

The universe hummed dully around them.

“I suppose it would take a miracle for us to find any music out here,” said Aziraphale.

Quite by coincidence, a record player came floating by them, nonsensically playing the first tune of Queen’s  _ Hot Space _ .

In the best way he could manage as a particle, Crowley grinned. “Would you look at that.”

“Oh, how delightful!” said Aziraphale, brightening. “How do you suppose a thing like that got out here?”

“No telling. It’s good, though, innit?” 

“It’s making me all nostalgic,” Aziraphale replied. “It reminds me of that old car of yours, a bit.”

“Ah, the Bentley,” Crowley sighed. “Had a good run, that old machine. I don’t suppose we need a car out here, though.”

“No,” said Aziraphale, spiraling alongside him. “I suppose not.”


	6. A Longer While Later

The record spun on until it reached the end of the album, and then it spun some more, spinning and spinning through space, spouting every Queen song ever recorded, and then every other song humanity had ever produced.

As it hissed the last note of the last song roughly fifteen thousand years later, it fell into a black hole and was never seen again.

“Well now what?” wondered Aziraphale, careful not to get pulled into the singularity.

“Dunno,” Crowley replied. A few days later, he added, “You know, the universe is a big place. Odds are, there’s sentient life out there somewhere.”

“God only knows.”

“Yes, and when I asked, she wouldn’t tell me,” Crowley huffed.

Aziraphale considered this. “We could try finding out for ourselves,” he suggested. “What are the odds some other species invented crepes, do you think?”

“Quite good,” Crowley guessed, hopeful at last.

When the two of them had explored the entirety of every planet, asteroid, planetoid, and moon in the whole universe, Crowley found that his optimism had been unwarranted. They were alone. Neither of them commented on this fact.

“Who do you think won, in the end?” Crowley asked after ten thousand years or so.

“How should I know?” Aziraphale snapped. He felt the particle that was Crowley begin to sulk. “I think the quiet is getting to me,” he explained, apologetic. “The truth is, I’m not sure I want to know which one it was. I suppose heaven would be better for the sake of the dearly departed,” he said, wandering past an asteroid. “It was probably heaven.” He would have frowned, if he were able.

“If the prophecies are to be believed,” Crowley conceded. “Which, they mostly aren’t.” 

“Weren’t,” Aziraphale corrected him.

“Oh. Right.”

They reached the edge of the universe again.

“How do you feel about a little friendly competition?” Crowley suggested.

“Go on.”

“Let’s see who can make the better star.”

Aziraphale balked, more or less. It came out as more of an increase in wavelength. “We can’t just make stars. Creation was eons ago!”

“Come on!” Crowley insisted. “Nobody’s watching! Let’s throw in a planet or two, while we’re at it! Think about it,” he went on, circling Aziraphale. “We’ll take a million years each, right? You go over there, I’ll go the opposite direction, and when we’re done, we’ll compare. Nobody else has to ever see. And I know you’re bored.”

WIth the lack of an authority to tell them otherwise, or anything better to do, Aziraphale agreed. “I hope you’re ready to lose.”


	7. Roughly a Million Years After That

As it turned out, a million years went by fast when one was creating. Both of them were working down to the last century adding the finishing touches, miracling their creations to the appropriate ages, adjusting orbits and clipping off the stray flares.

They met in the middle when time was up. Both of them had taken on their true forms.

“All done, Crowley?” called one to the other.

“You’re gonna be blown away,” came the reply through the vastness of space. “Really angel, I think I’ve outdone myself this time. Take a look at this.”

After a short month of travel, a pair of twinkling stars came into view.

“Is that it, there?” Aziraphale asked, gesturing with one of his great appendages. When Crowley nodded with one of his heads, Aziraphale told him, “It’s lovely.”

“Oh, but you haven’t even seen the best part!” Crowley gushed. Impatience forced him to miracle them the rest of the way there. “See, it’s a binary system. You’ve got a red dwarf, here, and a neutron star, there, right? So that one’s going to supernova eventually and swallow up the whole system.”

“Oh, very nice. Well done. Well done.”

“But wait, there’s more!” said Crowley, giddy. “Now, If you look closely… If you… Where did it..?” His joy faded. “I know I had a planet around here, somewhere.”

Aziraphale likewise searched all around, until he spotted some celestial mass being sucked into the neutron star. “Ah, Crowley, dear,” he said, “is that--”

“My planet!” Crowley cried, rushing towards the melting husk. “No! I was-- I thought I’d balanced the orbit! I had microbes! There were microbes! Argh!”

Aziraphale joined him, sympathy in his many eyes. “That’s a shame,” he said. “I’m sorry, Crowley. I’m sure it was spectacular.”

“It was,” Crowley lamented. “I would’ve had plants eventually, you know.” Disheartened, he shoved the planetoid the rest of the way into the star and said, “Alright, then. Let’s see yours.”

Reluctantly, Aziraphale teleported them a few lightyears away to his own attempt at creation.

“It’s not as, er, neat as yours,” he confessed when they appeared before a supergiant star. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this, exactly, but, well.” He gave a halfhearted flicker. “It is what it is.”

“Oh, that’s gonna make a wonderful explosion after a while,” said Crowley, nodding his heads in approval.

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale. “I made a planet, too.” He escorted his companion to the other side of the star, where a lumpy, molten mass of magma and rock spun clumsily through space. “It was supposed to have a ring, and a few moons.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

The two of them stared at the misshapen rock.

“I’m sure you could get it right, with a little more practice,” Crowley encouraged him. “Neither of us is the Creator, but we can still give it our best.”

“You’re probably right, except I don’t want to go around building planets anymore,” Aziraphale sighed. “It’s too stressful. What I really want to do is find a quiet water planet and float around some. Relax.”

Crowley hummed, dissatisfied. “Well, alright then,” he said. “If you’re going to take a nap, I’m going to keep trying at stars. I’m sure I can get it.”

“Yes, alright,” said Aziraphale. Some of his mouths yawned. “I’ll be over there, if you need me.” He pointed to a blue dot in another galaxy. “Good luck with your stars.”

“Good luck with your nap.”

The two of them parted ways.


	8. An Unfathomably Long Nap Afterwards

Aziraphale awoke to the sound of waves sloshing onto shore, the twinkle of a foreign canopy of stars overhead, and a familiar snake coiled around his human form.

“Good morning,” he said to the snake. “Tired of building stars?”

The snake nodded.

“Ah.” Absently, he stroked the snake’s scales and watched the endless sea churn around them. “Maybe we could go for a swim, later.”

Silently, Crowley-as-snake transformed into Crowley-as-human. The two beings remained coiled around each other.

“There’s always more naps to take,” Aziraphale suggested. 

“I thought it would be different,” said Crowley, a broken whisper in the universe.

Aziraphale frowned at the miserable creature curled against his chest.

“I thought if we ran away together, we’d make our own rules. Our own lives, our own fun,” Crowley went on. “I thought Earth was just a planet that happened to have life on it. I thought humans were just particularly troublesome apes. Humans, apes, angels, demons...” He gazed listlessly out at the sea. “I didn’t think I needed any of it, just so long as I had someone to share the rest of the universe with.”

Aziraphale stilled. “I missed Earth even before it was gone,” he replied. “Being out here, alone, with you… It’s been--” His words took their time forming themselves beyond the sound of an alien sea sighing around them. “I’ve enjoyed it more than I thought I would. These past few million years have been nothing but peace and quiet.”

“Too much.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered. “Yes, too much quiet. And, perhaps, too much peace. I understand,” he said. “I’m tired, too.”

A dull haze rose about them. A strange star became a pinprick sunrise on the horizon.

“This is it, isn’t it,” Crowley stated. His companion nodded. Quietly, they shared the sunrise and their sorrow.

“Promise me one thing,” said Aziraphale when midday approached.

“I’d promise you a million things.”

A smile appeared in the universe for the first time in millenia. “I’ll only need the one, dear,” he said. A second smile appeared. They disappeared together, the last pair of smiles to grace the face of the universe. “When the time comes, let’s go together.” 

“It’s only fitting,” Crowley agreed, nodding. “After everything, is there any other way?”

“But there’s no hurry,” Aziraphale hurried to say.

He calmed when Crowley answered, “No hurry at all. Can I tempt you to one last little stroll, then?”

“If you can’t,” said Aziraphale, “I daresay you’ve lost your touch.”

From there, the two of them set about revisiting every celestial body they could find. Most of them had changed, and yet nothing at all was different about any of it.


	9. A Short Stroll Later

They found a lonely water planet circling a single star. The angel descended onto the planet. Its waters became Holy. The demon ascended to the star, and its flames became likewise blessed.

Afterwards, the angel and the demon met in the middle. The things that would kill them watched from a distance as this happened.

“Is it ready?” said Aziraphale, squinting anxiously past Crowley at the star. “Will it-- Will it do the trick?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Crowley answered.

“But are you sure?” Aziraphale fretted. “It should have worked, yes, but if it goes wrong, and it doesn’t actually get the job done--”

“If it doesn’t work,” Crowley cut in, “I’ll still be here, just like I promised.”

Aziraphale stared at the demon, then, rather than the star. “So I’ll go first, then.”

“If you’re ready, yeah.”

Unblinking, Aziraphale kept his gaze fixed on everything he would be leaving behind. He nodded. “Thank you,” he radiated more than said. “For everything, since the beginning. If I ever said anything-- Crowley, if there’s anything I need to make right with you before we say goodbye--”

Crowley pulled him into his arms, and Aziraphale held him just as tightly, and like that, together, they knew that everything was alright.

“We’ve had a good run,” Crowley whispered into the nothing between them. “We’ve done everything we could.”

“Right. We have.”

“So there’s no reason for us to stay here.”

“We weren’t meant to be so alone in the universe, I don’t think.”

“And I can’t think of anything else to do or say, besides-- besides goodbye,” Crowley went on. “Goodbye, and thank you, and you’ve made life good. Really, angel, it’s been so good with you.”

Aziraphale squeezed him just a little tighter and puffed, “You wily old Serpent...”

“We’ve had our time.”

“A few billion years of it, in fact.”

“We chose our side, and now we’re choosing how things end here on the middle ground,” said Crowley. He took a breath. “And now it’s time.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered. “It’s time.” He didn’t let go.

Crowley didn’t, either. They remained in that embrace for a short year or so before Crowley ventured, “Do you want me to go with you?”

FInally, Aziraphale loosened his grip. “No,” he answered, letting go of all but Crowley’s hands. “No, it’s best if I walk myself into the flames. Um-- How about-- How about we face each other and fly backwards, until the end? Except, er, I’ll go first,” he said, nodding. “I’ll get a little head start, just in case the-- in case the fire doesn’t quite work.”

“That’ll do,” Crowley agreed, nodding. “Yeah. Perfect. We’ll do that. Just, er-- Just let go, when you’re ready.”

They lingered, holding fast to each other’s hands, for another decade.

Their palms, then, began to slide away from each other, and then their fingertips dragged along the other’s hands, and then their fingers were only brushing, and then, at long last, they separated and began to drift apart for the last time.


	10. A Much Shorter Stroll Later

“Wait.”

Aziraphale rushed to recover the lost space between them, which wasn’t very much, and said again, “Wait, Crowley, hold on, I have an idea!”

“Oh, thank Satan,” Crowley breathed. “What is it?”

“It’s been an awful long time, yes?”

“Yes?”

“So, consider this,” Aziraphale elaborated. “What if we popped into hell and heaven, just to see who won the final battle?”

Crowley frowned. “Aziraphale, we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. You don’t have to make up stupid excuses--”

“Just listen! It’s been so long that they’ve probably forgotten about us,” said Aziraphale as he grasped Crowley by the shoulders. “If they haven’t, they probably don’t care anymore about what we did! It’s all over, remember? And what’s the harm in checking?”

Crowley considered the harm. Then, he considered the alternative. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, we can check, but I want insurance.”

At Crowley’s insistence, Aziraphale procured a vial of holy water, and Crowley collected a strange container of holy fire, and when they met back in the middle, they gave these things to each other, suddenly much more wary of them than they had been just moments before. Then, they teleported themselves as far away from the planet and the star as they could.

That location turned out to be a large asteroid on the edge of the universe.

“So,” said Crowley. The pair of them loomed over the edge of a seemingly bottomless pit in the asteroid. It yawned darkly below them. “This’ll do for a gate to Below, I suppose.”

“Menacing enough, isn’t it?” Aziraphale remarked. “Should we bother trading appearances, or…?”

“Nah,” said Crowley. “We’ll be in and out before anyone sees us, if there’s even anyone left. Come on.” He offered Aziraphale his hand.

Aziraphale took it, and together, they jumped.

There was darkness, and wind, and darkness, and more darkness, and then heat, and more darkness, and a putrid odor, and more foul wind, and more curdling heat, and then there was the floor.

They landed on their feet in a tidy office next to an artificial fern.

“Oh, brilliant,” Crowley droned, scowling at his old office. “It’s still here.”

Aziraphale, however, was much more taken with the novel presence of furniture. He lowered himself carefully into Crowley’s old chair and kicked up his feet, grinning madly. “Look at all this! It’s almost like home, isn’t it?”

Crowley scoffed. “Too much like home. I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be.”

“Oh, fine,” Aziraphale sighed. “Have it your way.” He kicked his feet off the desk and rose from the chair, returning to Crowley’s side. “Lead the way, then. Let’s see if hell is empty or all the demons are here.”

As stealthily as they cared to be, the two of them ventured through labyrinthine hallways and drab stairwells. They neither sensed nor saw a single soul, demon or otherwise. They approached Head Office, and likewise found it empty.

“Huh,” said Crowley, nonplussed.

“Indeed.”

The air creaked.

“I guess your side won, after all.”

Aziraphale nodded, although the action didn’t please him. “It certainly seems that way. And it appears they took no prisoners.”

Crowley grunted, and then, for no particular reason, he kicked a festering wastebasket so that it spilled across his old boss’s office. “Let’s go.”

They went.


	11. One Long Climb Afterwards

“Alright, your turn,” said Crowley once they emerged into the vacuum of space. “If I had to go back, so do you.” 

“Yes, fine, very well,” came the mildly miffed reply. “I’d planned on it anyway.”

“Of course.”

“Just a peek,” said Aziraphale, wringing his hands. “And if things look remotely unwelcoming, we’ll just leave.”

“Right,” Crowley agreed. “Just having a look.”

“Precisely.”

They stared at each other.

“Lead the way.”

“Oh, right,” said Aziraphale. His eyes roved from Crowley to the various surfaces of the asteroid, and then they landed back on the crater. “If we dive in head-first this time…”

After a running start, they dove in together.

They popped up out of an open window that, once upon a time, had been set in the floor for the purpose of viewing Earth, but now only served the purpose of letting in two intruders. Crowley and Aziraphale rolled onto their backs on the sleek, white floor, and stared up into a distant ceiling, lit by smooth, perfect lights.

Immediately, Aziraphale sat up. “We need to go,” he said. “They’re here. I can feel them. The heavenly host-- and something else,” he panted, searching all around. “Something strange. We should leave.”

“I feel it too,” Crowley murmured, more fascinated than fearful. He sat up with Aziraphale. “I think we should have a look, just, you know, just to see.”

“There is nothing to see!” Aziraphale hissed. “We need to leave before we get captured or imprisoned or-- or worse!”

“Just a quick look ‘round, angel, and then we’ll be right--” Crowley’s face went slack. His gaze was fixed on the doorway across the chamber.

Aziraphale followed his tremulous gaze and felt his own joints liquefy. 

There were two figures, one terribly beautiful, one beautifully terrible.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” said one of the beautiful beings.

Aziraphale’s fingers went snaking through his clothes to find the holy fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he witnessed Crowley make the same move.

“Please don’t do that,” said the other of the terrible beings. “There’s still so much to see.”

“There’s still so much we need to make right with each other.”

The beings approached. Crowley saw Aziraphale freeze. He did the same.

“Everyone is waiting for you,” said one of the beings. “Now that you’re finally here, we can make everything right.”

“And what, exactly,” Aziraphale stammered, his eyes jetting between the two beings, “does making everything right entail for-- for us, Almighty One?” 

“Because if it’s-- I mean, we can-- we can see ourselves out,” Crowley added. “No need to strain yourselves, obliterating the likes of us.” 

“Nobody’s going to be obliterated,” the other being assured them. “Not even if you do it yourselves. Nobody ever truly stopped existing.”

“Although we won’t make you stay,” said the other. “You will stay, though, won’t you?”

It didn’t sound like a question.

“So we can leave?” Crowley asked, shivering. “And you’ll leave us alone?”

The beings nodded.

“Or we can… stay?” Aziraphale wondered. “Both of us?” Another set of nods. “And what happens, then?”

“Then we’ll all make amends.”

“Some people owe you both apologies.”

“Starting with us.”

“And you can reconcile with anyone who needs it,” one added. “In your own time, of course. We have all of eternity.”

“Is that what you two did?” Crowley blurted. “Made nice? Fallen and Almighty, friends again after all this nonsense?”

“Yes,” they replied. “It was time.”

Holding fast to each other, Crowley and Aziraphale got to their wobbly feet.

“Can we, er,” Aziraphale tried. “Can we have some time to-- to think this over?”

One of the beings laughed. “We’ve already waited this long. What’s another few million years?”

“Although,” said the other. “There’s a boy named Warlock who can’t go a day without mentioning his old nanny or the gardener that kept him company, and there are a few angels who want to apologize for a few things, and a few demons who would like to do the same.”

“There are also several dozen ducks and geese who want to thank you for the breadcrumbs,” added the first. “And several houseplants who demand apologies. So make of that what you will.”

With that, the beings went out the way they had come in, still radiating love. They left the door open.

After a week, the two of them recovered from their shock and relief well enough to speak.

“Should we trust them?”

“I don’t know.”

Another day passed.

“They haven’t come back for us yet.”

“They might just be waiting for us to let our guards down,” said Aziraphale.

“They’ve been waiting an awful long time.” Crowley stared at the open door. “I can’t believe they all moved here together.”

“Do you think anything has changed?”

Crowley shrugged. “We could find out.”

They hesitated another few days, glancing from the door to the window that was patiently waiting to let them out again.

Aziraphale drew out his holy fire and stared at it. Fearfully, Crowley watched him. “Something tells me this won’t do me any good,” said Aziraphale. He tossed the killing thing out the window. Crowley followed suit.

They both felt lighter.

Love still radiated from the open door.

“Shall we, then?” Crowley asked, extending his hand towards Aziraphale. “Together?”

“Always,” Aziraphale replied, and then he took his hand. When the two trembling hands met, they both stilled.

At last, step by step, the two of them guided each other into eternity, certain of nothing but one another.


End file.
